Posts Tagged ‘losing today’

Many apologies to presents for sally who sent along their latest platter ‘wishawaytoday’ – available via the much adored saint marie imprint – which in our somewhat exiled period we managed to mislay too much teeth gnashing frustration the matter only being made worse for the small fact they’ve an album imminent / out now / gone already entitled ‘colours and changes’ which we are frantically trying to source links for. Well that’s for another day, still can’t find the errant 7 inch though, however we have managed to seek out sound cloud links for the aforementioned lead cut – and a beauty it is to, an acutely cute slice of dream drifting love pop demurred and dinked in haloes of hazily glazed vapour purrs and the softening shimmer toning of bliss kissed murmurs effervescently dimpled upon sky falling feel good sun bathed breezes which had we not known any better we’d have hazarded a guess was the studio grooving of a gathering of chill pilled Ride types cosying up to the hollow men. Distractively dreamy stuff.

Mentioned this lot way back at the start of the year when we fortuitously tripped over their sound cloud page and found ourselves somewhat smitten by ‘deer land’, now signed up to Club ac30 they’ve an album entering sound space after the Christmas malarkey in conjunction with the shelflife imprint entitled ‘everything else matters’ which when it docks will come adorned in various eye catching colours of wax. They are called Pinkshinyultrablast – number in three and hail from Russia and who as mentioned in previous despatches appear to be heading up that nations My Bloody Valentine fan club. So while we fall headlong and immerse ourselves into their starry worlds here’s ‘Umi’ to keep you occupied and no doubt spellbound. Primed from that set and sent ahead as a herald via club ac30 ‘Umi’ is one of those most rare moments wherein you are left literally dumbstruck and jaw agape at a tracks passing wondering to yourself what the hell you’d just heard. Beyond celestial this dream dazed star child peppered in euphoria and effervescence jet streams through your listening space as though some heaven sent messenger on a brief tour shimmering upon an astral ride navigating the farthest reaches of the cosmic voids all the time as were transmitting love noted distress calls. A truly adorable visitation.

Don’t know whether to laugh or laugh even more, do you reckon we could make the destruction of Julian Cope records a national sport. Of course we joke Jules. We say this because there’s a fair amount of pathological venting of anger being administered by hammers and baseball bats upon various Cope platters in the video to Eureka California’s wilfully deranged ‘I bet that you like Julian Cope’ that we are at present putting pen to letter suggesting a Morrissey remix. And no we don’t joke Stephen. Anyhow mini Stonehenge’s aside – nice touch that incidentally – this is probably the most unforgivingly feral, wired and frenzied 1 minute and 7 seconds you’ll encounter this missive and needless to say the rest of the year unless of course the Magik Markers make an unhinged last gasp band call before December run out of days – go on do it, do it, do it. Anyhow this is just pure manic delight built upon a stuttering and butchered Ramones coda that imagines a three way ringside head butt between the Violent Femmes, Teen Anthems and the Pooh Sticks, incidentally on the coolest of labels HHBTM – so you know it’s a must.

First of three new 7’s from the emotional response imprint a label headed up by Jen Turrell and Stewart Anderson of 555 recordings and red square fame – the latter of whom happens to feature on all three releases as boyracer mainstay). So far Hulaboy have thus far managed to escape our ever watchful eye, a forging of alliances between Eric Hula Hoop and Stewart Boyracer marking a friendship going back some twenty years. Now we were expecting all manner of edgy and schizoid hijinks – at least that’s what the press release was hinting at, instead ‘exes and enemies’ is an impishly tasty slice of acutely cool bracing beat pop that literally beams and radiates with the kind of sweetly cured power pop purr that littered frequently the grooves of classic twee platters shimmying out of the Sarah, bus stop and summershine sound houses of years long past. More punch you out hook heavy ear snaring melodies adorn the grooves of ‘nepalm heart’ a kind of punked popped Teen Anthems blessed with a turn of musical phrase so catchy that jabs ought to accompany it. Best of the trio by some distance ‘kids under stars’ is a bit of curio that manages to freewheel in all manner of 60’s psych beat pop haziness whilst equally fuzzing out to a mind wiping and stoned heavy blues freaksome key swirled white out.

Talking of boyracer – the attached guide note makes mention of over two decades of indie cool totalling (what?) over 800 release appearances and all this whilst taking a sabbatical which they are now returned and re-energised from. The ‘pete shelley’ EP features four grizzled power pop nuggets dragged from their lo-fi basement. Lead out track ‘Pete Shelley’ brief and blistered comes awkwardly frazzled out of the traps like some beaten around edges slab of skewed bubble groove taking to its heart a wannabe Monkees vibe lovingly roughed up and rippling in the anti-pop skin of an Albini overseen Wedding Present. As you’d rightly expect from a track titled ‘2nd wave mod’ the ‘Racers go rummaging around 60’s compilations and don their finest Carnaby St threads for some nifty beat grooved swagger and swoon, the aloofness and edginess of the Who burns its trademark footprint across the grooves though scratch a little deeper and the subtle investment of ears pinned listening to the Action reaps its reward. Ripped in oodles of spikiness and hatefulness ‘the kind of man you are’ is your short and bitter slap to the head comeuppance drilled through at a manic pace which ought to have admirers of the pooh sticks and the violent femmes cooing from the side lines and leaves ‘jump’ to round up matters, alas not the Van Halen version but instead an addictively infectious daft and carefree jab of sunny sided effervescent lo-fi loveliness which had I not known would have hazarded a guess was by those lovable souls Helen Love – kind of makes it a required purchase.

Best of the three by a whisker width is the four- track offering from the Safe Distance – a super group of sorts featuring various members of boyracer, the cannanes, sarandon and Crayola all gathering together to etch all manner of skewed and skedaddled pop discordance upon the finite grooves of this limited coloured wax 7. The press release makes mention of a shared pissing pool with the likes of Bogshed and Adam and the Ants – a good call because there’s a sense of dishevelment and pop discordance at work here that through the shambling haze emerges without word of warning moments of ear candy lucidity and yes while opener ‘hey you’ does hint at a new wave psychosis once honed to wax platters by a youthful Wire however it was the furiously unrepentant wiring and warped ‘sandpit’ that had us all agog here mainlining on a manic melee of moments rifled from the nightingales and the tv personalities and having them set upon a deathly dust draped crossroads outland for the Fall to indelibly scratch their trademark skewif signature. Between all this you’ll find ‘a bigger splash’ doing some nifty lolloping Pavement meets Garlic groove while ‘soap’ is your classic era ‘dirk’ era Adam after sleep deprivation tests listening to the entire Beefheart back catalogue.

Buggering hell this is well dandy, ‘twin cities’ comes culled from the soon to be released second album by Eureka California – which note takers goes by the name of ‘crunch’ – which is due for release by happy happy birthday to me records whose press blurb I should warn screams out loud proclaiming this lot to be ‘your new favourite band’. frankly I’m on board with that not least due to the fact that these impish souls – incidentally heading out of Athens, Georgia – have an acute knack of firing out skewed sonic salvos of bent out of shape, frayed and decidedly distressed teen angst gouged radiant power pop at pace as so artfully found on this two minute slam dunking scuzz rocket which dear readers if my ears do deceive sounds like a schizoid squabble between an agit minded Violent Femmes and the sun fried dayglo dalliances of the pooh sticks all overseen by those half Japanese types.